


Glass walls

by Elisexyz



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, Rufus Stays Dead For A While
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-25 10:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21354964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: Of all the people that she expected to find, Flynn and Connor were fairly low on the list, much lesstogether.
Relationships: Garcia Flynn & Jiya, Garcia Flynn & Jiya & Connor Mason
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22
Collections: Found Family Bingo





	Glass walls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissCrazyWriter321](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/gifts).

> This is a fill for the "Grief/Mourning" prompt on my Found Family Bingo card on Tumblr.  
  
It's set in an AU in which Future!Lucy and Future!Wyatt didn't show up at the end of the season finale. I hope you'll enjoy it <3

She can’t stop. Frankly, she doesn’t want to.

Solitude is something that, no matter her wishes, she had to grow used to, alone in a foreign century with little to no hope for a rescue. She learned how to shoulder fear, sadness, even grief, after she decided that she didn’t _want_ to be rescued – because that could only end in Rufus’ death, and she had to come to terms with the idea of being content losing him but knowing him alive, somewhere.

They came for her, stubborn and stupid the way deep down she knew they would be, and now Rufus is gone, and everyone is—they want to help. She understands that, of course she does.

The problem is that she doesn’t _need_ their help. Part of it is that she’s angry, angry at their decision to come after her regardless of the consequences, angry at Denise for authorizing this, angry at Wyatt for bringing Jessica in their lives in the first place, angry at Lucy for tentatively trying to reach out a thousand times—they are her friends, but she hasn’t had anyone in a long time, and this is terrible timing not to be left alone.

Time is the only thing she needs, really: she spends hours upon hours spying the future, not because she truly hopes to find Rufus in there, but searching for a _clue_ to begin building the solution.

All this started because Lucy travelled on her own timeline, giving Flynn what he needed to begin his war against Rittenhouse. This means that somewhere in the future there _will_ be the possibility of travelling back to a time when they already existed, and she needs to make it happen. Now.

Locked in her room, lying on her bed for hours to no end, she tries and tries and tries, but the images only seem to get fuzzier, each trance leaving her more exhausted than the previous one, and eventually she’s left panting, up on her elbows and overwhelmed by nausea.

A glance at the clock tells her that it’s the middle of the night, so perhaps she can afford to take a quick walk to the kitchen, have a glass of water before she goes back to it.

(She won’t sleep until she has found it. She doesn’t care to discover what kind of nightmares her head would be able to conjure up under the circumstances.)

Her legs are a little unsteady, the world quivering slightly around her, but she pushes through, unlocking the door after a moment of hesitance, as she half expects for someone to be waiting right outside for her.

Fortunately, she doesn’t have to deal with so much as a sound until she nears the kitchen and she’s greeted by faint voices and what sounds suspiciously like a giggle.

Of all the people that she expected to find, Flynn and Connor were fairly low on the list, much less _together_.

Before she can decide to run right back to her room, the horror at the idea of having company being stronger than her curiosity, Connor notices her.

“Jiya!” he erupts, jovial in a way that seems so out of place it startles her. “Fancy seeing you!”

He’s wearing an apron, stained with chocolate all over, and she guesses he’s at least a little tipsy. When her eyes land on an open bottle on the table, it only serves as confirmation.

There’s a faint smell of something burning, and judging by all the things scattered around the kitchen they have been at this for a while. Flynn looks quietly resigned, rolling his eyes and at least appearing sober.

Jiya has to wonder how it is that these two ended up playing Master Chef together.

“What’s going on here?” she asks, her voice hoarse like she hasn’t used it in too long, her eyes stinging, she isn’t sure if because of the exhaustion, or the smell, or perhaps the heat from the oven. “Did something burn?”

“I tried stress-baking,” Connor explains. He snorts. “I’m not very good at it. I should stick to stress-drinking.”

“I found him before he could actually set the kitchen on fire, fortunately,” Flynn intervenes, looking vaguely amused by the whole situation.

Jiya blinks, her overworked brain having a ridiculously hard time picturing the scene, much less coming up with a clever reply to what she just heard. “You bake?” she ends up asking, not masking her surprise.

Flynn shrugs, avoiding her eyes like he’s suddenly become self-conscious. “Lorena was useless at it,” he mumbles, before turning around to throw a couple of tools in the sink.

Jiya swallows, nodding mostly to herself before Connor snatches her attention back.

“He’s a good teacher!” he declares, solemnly. “I can now make good cookies. I’ll show you how.”

Without fully realizing how it happened, Jiya finds herself seated at the table, Connor somehow turning what could probably be a fairly brief explanation into a full-blow Shakespearian monologue, with only a few suggestions from Flynn when he forgets details.

For a moment, it feels like they have created a little bubble away from their world, in which she is finally not the centre of attention, nothing happened and she can just—forget. Awful as that might be.

Eventually, she catches Flynn’s eyes, reading on his face such a _knowing_ look that it makes her stomach twist painfully. She feels the urge to flee, her muscles already tensing in anticipation for when his mouth will open and he’ll start spewing platitudes, offering concern, trying to _help_—

He turns around, without saying a word.

Relief rushes through her so suddenly that it’s overwhelming: it steals her breath away for a moment, and she only keeps blinking at him, afraid to see him to turn back and shatter her bubble while claiming to be only trying to do what’s _best_ for her.

When he doesn’t, she turns back to Connor, who is so engulfed into his existential crisis over the correct shape of cookies that he probably didn’t even notice her momentary distraction, and a slight smile of relief makes its way onto her lips.

She hasn’t paid him any attention for a while when Flynn eventually sets a sandwich, an apple and a glass of water in front of her.

“You haven’t eaten all day,” he says, gruffly, and nothing else.

That sends Connor on a whole tangent about how sandwiches and cookies don’t mix and she should keep enough space for his _delicious_ cookies and how Flynn is trying to _sabotage_ him, to which Flynn raises his eyebrows and comments that he’d rather let her eat something edible before they attempt to poison her.

Listening to their bickering and taking a careful bite of her sandwich – without mayo, the way she likes it, though she has no idea how he noticed –, she feels a little less alone.

(It’s a good feeling that she had almost forgotten.)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates comments, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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